


At the Hand of the Other

by duplicity



Series: One-Shots [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curse Breaking, Fate & Destiny, Harry Potter is Not a Horcrux, M/M, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duplicity/pseuds/duplicity
Summary: Harry had lost track of the times he had fallen to Tom’s unknowing hand, or sword, or wand. The Fates must have been having a good laugh at their expense, because the circumstances surrounding Harry’s numerous deaths were too ridiculous to be coincidental.Each time Harry died in Tom’s arms, the result of another botched attempt to break them out of this endless cycle of rebirth, it grew harder to think of ways to stop it from happening again.Translation in Russian available!
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: One-Shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597975
Comments: 53
Kudos: 830





	At the Hand of the Other

**Author's Note:**

> written for the CoS server challenge prompt by Spoken, which was for a reincarnation au.
> 
> translation in russian done by [Nencytime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nencytime/pseuds/Nencytime) is available [here!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9071394)

_“I don’t ask you to love me always like this, but I ask you to remember._

_Somewhere inside of me there will always be the person I am tonight.”_

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the Night.

* * *

Tom never remembered right away.

Though they had been cursed lifetimes ago, centuries and centuries ago, this single fact consistently held true.

It was always Harry who knew, who recognized, who _saw_. He would recognize Tom anywhere, in any face. He would recognize Tom even when he was staring his love down at wand point. 

Even finding Tom was easy, for they were destined to meet and Tom was the sort who rose to notability wherever he was, the cream of the crop. To find his other half, Harry only had to follow the blazing trail of ambition that Tom carved on one of his many paths to greatness.

Tom was not so lucky. For his curse, the curse that had dragged Harry along with him, was to forget.

It was only the sight of green eyes—Harry’s eyes, unchanged by time and distance—that woke Tom’s memories from slumber.

But even that was too little, too late.

Harry had lost track of the times he had fallen to Tom’s unknowing hand, or sword, or wand. The Fates must have been having a good laugh at their expense, because the circumstances surrounding Harry’s numerous deaths were too ridiculous to be coincidental.

Each time Harry died in Tom’s arms, the result of another botched attempt to break them out of this endless cycle of rebirth, it grew harder to think of ways to stop it from happening again.

Seeing Tom’s heartbreak when his memories returned hurt Harry more than simply watching Tom live his life from afar. Perhaps they were not meant to be after all, not as soulmates, for what soulmates could be condemned to an eternity of never being properly together?

So Harry had tried. He had tried to stay away, tried to let Tom enjoy what he could out of a full human life, a life free of Harry, a life free of guilt and regret.

But that, too, failed. Tom would seek him out, somehow, somewhere. By Fate’s hand, Tom was guided towards him, as though their bond was an unstoppable force of nature, as though as soulmates they would always be drawn together. There would be devastating hurricanes, or secret long-lost relatives, or—in one particular life—a stampede of wild gazelles, and then Tom would find Harry, and then Harry would die.

But this time was different.

Tom had beaten him here by about fifty-five years, and by the time Harry was old enough to finally realize what his memories meant and what had happened, he knew that this time they stood a chance.

Because Tom had seen him this time. Tom had seen his eyes, moments after casting the Killing Curse, but it was _enough_ , because Harry was still alive thanks to the love and bravery of his mother, Lily Evans-Potter. Harry was still alive, and Tom would at last remember who he was.

This time they would break the curse. Harry was sure of it.

* * *

Harry abided by the Dursley’s strict rules. He behaved like a perfectly normal child, charming them with the years of skill he’d weaned from Tom. He waited and he waited, because he knew, eventually, Tom would return for him.

Harry turned eleven, became a wizard, and went to Hogwarts. 

He learned Tom’s name and the name Voldemort, and he despaired over what had become of the man he loved.

Harry made friends with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom.

He kept an eye on the third-floor corridor, waiting to see if anyone would try to take the stone that lived behind the guarded trapdoor.

(No one did.)

* * *

Harry knew the diary was bad from the moment he saw it. He knew it was bad, knew what it was, but that did not stop him from writing in it, because he knew _who_ it was, and so he had to try.

But the diary wasn’t quite _right_ , and when Harry was pulled into the memory Tom offered up to him, it wasn’t what he was looking for. The diary had no eyes—it could not see Harry for who he truly was. Harry only had the comfort of Tom’s magic in his hands, dark and twisted as it had become. The diary shade was not the same as having Tom, all memories intact, with him.

And then the diary went missing. Harry looked for it, desperate and distraught, but he could not find it. Robbed of even that comfort, Harry began to doubt his ability to set things right.

Then Ginny Weasley went missing, too, and Harry felt an odd inkling begin to build deep in his gut. Whispers of Parseltongue, whispers of Slytherin’s monster, whispers of an heir.

After figuring out what had happened, Harry went down, alone, into the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom was there.

Their eyes caught. Tom’s expression shifted. Harry waited, as he always had, and then, once it seemed Tom was himself again, he launched his twelve-year-old body forward.

Tom caught him around the waist, falling to his knees in the process, and they hugged. Harry buried his face into Tom’s shoulder. Though these bodies were new, the action still felt familiar.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” said Tom. “I should never have—I never meant to—”

Tom never did, and that was not his fault. Harry shook his head, pulling away so he could look into Tom’s eyes.

“It will be alright,” Harry told him. “You have me this time. You’ve seen me.”

Tom looked uncertain. “Harry,” he said, then paused. “I could—” He stopped again, and then his eyes slid over to Ginny, who was laid out upon the floor, still unconscious, the life draining out of her.

They both knew he could not. Though Harry would have loved to spend this lifetime _with_ Tom instead of avoiding or fighting him, he also could not bear to lose this one chance, however slim, at freeing them from the curse. Tom could not be allowed to succumb to dark magic, to dark ways. To the ways that had once pushed them apart, had pushed Harry away...

Tom pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead, his arms still wrapped around Harry’s waist and shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Tom said again, quiet and wretched. “You should hate me, for doing this to us.”

“It’s not,” Harry told him. “It is not your fault we’re trapped like this. I don’t hate you. I never will.”

But Tom’s face grew impassive—he untangled himself from Harry, shifting across the chamber floor to pick up the diary. His hand smoothed over the cover, the motion full of melancholy.

“I’ll have to go back inside.”

Harry walked over, pressing his tiny hand against Tom’s cheek. “I’ll keep you with me, I promise. You won’t be alone, Tom. Not anymore, not if I can help it. We’re going to break this curse.”

Tom did not look as though he believed it. He brushed his hand across Harry’s forehead, tracing a finger across the lightning bolt scar. “I love you,” he said, the words soft.

“I love you,” Harry echoed. He had to hope their love would be enough.

* * *

Dumbledore looked at him differently, after the Chamber.

Harry looked back, his Occlumency shields raised, shields that were undetectable to even the most powerful of magical beings. Beings more powerful than Dumbledore had ever dreamed of becoming. So Harry gazed steadily back at twinkling blue eyes, praying to a deity he no longer believed in that the old wizard would look no further.

* * *

Third year started with Dementors.

Harry had long since mastered much of his fear, but Dementors were creatures that continued to haunt him. It was Tom’s face he saw, overlaid a hundred times over and over, the features blending into each other. It was Tom’s voice he heard, a symphony of pleas for Harry to stay—

— _don’t die, you can’t die, you can’t, don’t leave me, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor_ —

—a terrifying coldness that threatened to still his heart if he was not careful.

There was also the additional threat of Sirius Black’s face plastered in the papers.

Harry didn’t worry much about Black, if at all. Harry was, technically, a grown man. He could do all sorts of magic that people here had long since forgotten; he could certainly handle a crazed Azkaban escapee.

October came and went, and then fall turned into winter without any fanfare. No Sirius Black ever came to Hogwarts. But spiders began to flee the Forbidden Forest, and Harry wondered on what it all meant.

He wrote Tom as frequently as he could manage, though it was difficult when Ginny still remembered, however vaguely, the trauma wrought by the diary of Tom Riddle. Harry had to disguise the book as something else, and even then he had to be careful of who was watching him. Still, having this part of Tom with him meant the tear in his heart felt that much closer to being mended.

Right before the Easter holidays, Ron’s pet rat went missing.

Harry had never paid much notice to the mangy creature Ron called his pet, but now that the rat had been brought to his attention, Harry realized just how _odd_ it was for a rat, even a rat that was supposed to be a magical familiar, to live for over twelve years.

As Hermione and Ron got into argument after argument over whether or not Scabbers had been eaten by Crookshanks, Harry continued to wait for something to happen.

(Scabbers never turned up.)

* * *

Harry attended the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys.

The Ireland team’s momentous victory was somewhat ruined by the fact that, by next morning, the only headlines in the papers were about Sirius Black, who had not been a Death Eater after all. The true traitor, the one who had sold Harry Potter’s parents to Voldemort, had been Peter Pettigrew.

Peter Pettigrew, who was also a rat animagus.

Harry did not think that this was a coincidence, and neither did Tom.

_I must be close,_ wrote Tom. 

_And still trying to protect me,_ Harry wrote back.

_I’d expect nothing less. You know I never want to see you hurt, Harry. I’d do anything in my power to keep you safe._

* * *

Later that week, Barty Crouch Senior missed three days of work.

* * *

The Triwizard Tournament had come to Hogwarts. Many students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived to compete for such a prestigious honour. Everyone was excited for a bit of adventure, a bit of glory.

On Halloween, Cedric Diggory’s name was pulled from the Goblet of Fire as the Hogwarts Triwizard Champion.

Harry clapped when everyone else did, then waited.

When the fourth slip of paper spat itself out of the Goblet, the Great Hall was deathly silent.

“Harry Potter,” read Dumbledore.

Underneath the name, the slip of paper read, in familiar writing, ‘by Fate’s hand’.

* * *

_Harry, you are by far the most idiotic, most obstinate person I have ever had the misfortune to meet, and I have lived a long time. Many times, in fact—_

_Love you too,_ Harry wrote back, smiling. _Do you think I stand a chance of winning?_

_I think you’re going to drive me mad before my other self even comes to find you._

_Perfect,_ Harry wrote. _That’s how I’ll know my plan is working._

* * *

Sirius came to see Harry on the day of the First Task. He was on the thin side, but he was dressed in nice, clean robes and his hair looked recently trimmed.

The two of them were together in the Champions’ tent, still strangers to each other. Sirius shuffled his feet as he smiled nervously at Harry.

“I don’t know if anyone’s told you,” said Sirius. “But I’m your—”

“—godfather, I know,” said Harry, and he pulled a surprised Sirius into a warm hug.

There was a pause, and then Harry felt Sirius’ arms come up to wrap around his back.

Centuries of lives loved and lost had passed since the day Harry had first been brought into the world, and though he had always been acutely in touch with the emotions of others, Harry’s capacity for empathy had only grown stronger with the passage of time.

There was always room in his heart for another lonely soul.

* * *

Tom had outlined the ritual that would be required to resurrect his other self to a human form. The entire process made Harry feel cold. He thought back across the expanse of his many lifetimes, wishing that Tom could have been content with what they’d originally had.

Immortality was a curse disguised as a blessing; the perfect lure for Tom, who only ever wanted to be the best. Tom had once feared death, but now as he wrote to Harry, he admitted that part of him craved it, to cease the agony of repeated existence without Harry by his side.

* * *

_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son._

_Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master._

_Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe._

* * *

It had taken Harry decades of searching to find out why they had been cursed to this endless cycle of existence. Each time he had grown close to finding the answer, Fate had seen fit to tear him from the earth and send him flying into a new life.

But eventually the pieces had come together, from myths and from religions, from old scrolls and worn tomes, and the sin became clear.

To kill your soulmate was to violate one of the oldest laws of nature. Soulmates were tied together, their lives forever connected.

To reject life and love both was to commit an act so heinous and amoral that the punishment would last for all eternity.

Thus Tom was sentenced to end Harry’s life each time they met, only ever realizing the consequence of his actions once it was too late.

And Harry, who had never learned to be selfish when it came to Tom, who would have gladly given his life a thousand times if it meant he could suffer in Tom’s place, was forced to watch helplessly as his death tore Tom’s heart apart over and over.

* * *

“Do you need help preparing for the next task, Harry?”

Harry smiled and told people who offered him help that he was fine, told them it was against the rules for people to help Champions prepare for the tasks. He did his best to ignore the guilty, pitying looks he got in return.

(Harry had already told Cedric Diggory to open the egg underwater.)

* * *

_LESTRANGES BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN!_

* * *

Harry spent endless hours holed up in the Hogwarts library, pretending to study for the Second Task and talking to Tom through the diary. The Lestranges’ escape from Azkaban remained a popular topic for discussion and gossip amongst the student body.

Though his friends were growing more concerned for his well-being by the day, Harry found it hard to pay them much attention. His plan to lure Tom out of hiding still wasn’t working. His friends, though well-meaning, didn’t know what he was trying to do. They thought he was out of his league competing against older students who knew more magic than he did. They were scared that he would die.

But Harry had faced death as both an adversary and a friend. He had already died more than a dozen times over. There was nothing left for Harry to fear from death.

_If not this next task, then the Third Task,_ Tom wrote, the words appearing in short, precise strokes. _I will come for you, I am sure of it._

Harry could only hope that was the case, because otherwise he would have to get creative in the escalation of his own endangerment. 

There was, however, something symbolic in going from nearly burning to death to nearly drowning to death.

It reminded him of the very first time, of feeling the wind rush up from under him, his limbs askew, his body weightless as he fell through the air, tumbling towards the earth below. It reminded him of the impact of flesh and bone against the solid ground.

And Tom had followed him down, his eyes a brilliant, blazing red. Red like the dying sun, red like the blood that had soaked into Harry’s clothes and filled his mouth until he’d been choking on it—

— _I_ _’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I love you, I love you, don’t die don’t die don’t_ —

—and then Harry’s breathing had stilled, his consciousness fading until all that had lingered was the sensation of there being something very, very wrong.

* * *

Sirius wrote Harry to say that there had been a break-in at Grimmauld Place. The only thing that had been stolen, according to Kreacher, was a locket that had belonged to Regulus Black.

Harry thought it odd, but he had more pressing things to worry about. Besides, if his plan to lure Tom out of hiding didn’t work, he was going to stay with Sirius for the summer. There would be plenty of time to investigate the mystery then.

* * *

The hedge maze was tall and gloomy, its shadow looming darker by the second under the fading light of day. The atmosphere surrounding the four champions was grim as they listened to the rules for the Third Task.

Armed only with his wand and Tom’s diary strapped to his person, Harry eyed the entrance. Due to his poor ranking, Harry was to be the final contestant to enter the maze.

Harry was not worried about racing the others. He would burn his way through the hedges.

_You must reach the cup,_ Tom had written. _I think it will be a Portkey._

When Harry finally disappeared into the green, he used the Four-Point Spell to direct him towards the maze’s center, then applied Fiendfyre to burn a careful, controlled pathway towards the middle.

There was a conspicuous lack of traps and creatures as Harry passed through each opening he cut into the maze, but he knew he was getting closer. He would only have to wait a few more moments…

One final hedge fell to Harry’s wand, and then he broke through at last to the blue glow of the Triwizard Cup. The cup was sat innocuously upon a white marble pedestal that reflected the soft, ethereal light.

A quick glance revealed there was no one else around.

Harry strode up to the Portkey and seized the handle. The familiar jerk at his navel would tug him to where he had always been destined to go: to his soulmate, to Tom.

* * *

He reappeared to the sight of blinding camera flashes, to the loud sounds of trumpets blaring.

Harry blinked into the chaos of celebration that erupted as he was declared the winner of the Triwizard Tournament, and wondered just where he had gone so horribly wrong.

People were shaking his hand. Harry tried his best to remain coherent and upright through his burgeoning panic and confusion, and then Mr. Crouch was leading Harry to the winner’s tent. They were to award him with the prize, and then there would be a press conference.

Many people had already expressed disbelief at Harry’s success, and he did not blame them. He had blatantly cheated his way through the entire maze in under twenty minutes, and on top of that he had emerged absolutely uninjured. All of this after he’d essentially failed the first two tasks. It was a wonder people weren’t demanding that he forfeit.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry looked up. Mr. Crouch was offering him the bag of Galleons. He was also wearing leather gloves despite the nice weather, which was odd.

But Harry reached out for the bag on instinct, unthinking, and as his hand gripped the fabric, his surroundings twisted away—

* * *

They landed in the drawing room of a dusty, elegant home. The decor looked to be about half a century old, and it was nothing like what Harry had expected.

Tom was there, pacing the room, dressed in solid black robes. He was deathly pale, his skin chalk white, but he was here and he was whole, and that was what mattered most to Harry.

Harry stepped forward, mindful of their audience.

As he grew closer, he could see that Tom’s eyes were red, gleaming like rubies. Harry felt a thrill of anxiety dance up his spine.

“Harry Potter.”

The way Tom breathed this new name, like it was familiar, hurt for some reason. Harry wanted to get closer, to touch Tom and make sure that he was really there.

Tom made a dismissive gesture in the air. Crouch, from where he’d still been standing behind Harry, slid out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Harry removed the diary from where he’d strapped it to his side and held it out. He was a good deal shorter than Tom, and he felt oddly conscious of this fact as Tom plucked the diary from his hand.

“You remember?” Harry asked.

“I do.”

Tom opened the diary up. Two words in dark ink appeared, words that Harry couldn’t quite see from the angle he was standing at. The cover fell shut again, obscuring the pages from view.

“I tried to stay away,” Tom began. Then he paused, staring distantly at the wall. “I thought it would be better for you, if I did.”

“It wasn’t.” Harry shook his head. “I always want you, no matter what.”

“I’ve been gathering my Horcruxes,” Tom continued. “Merging them back into myself.”

“And the ritual?”

Tom frowned. “Barty helped me after I’d already merged with my other Horcruxes. Bone of the father, flesh of the servant.”

“And the blood?”

Tom looked away. “My own.”

Harry swallowed down the meaning of that, stepping closer still, and Tom stiffened.

“Wait—”

But Harry closed the distance anyways, and though he only came up to Tom’s shoulder, he pulled Tom close, pressing his face against Tom’s chest, breathing deeply. 

A moment passed. And then Tom’s hand moved, his fingers carding gently through Harry’s hair. “You’re so young,” he said. “I usually don’t see you until you’re older.” Then he winced at his own words, his hand withdrawing. “I need to re-merge the diary.”

Harry reluctantly pulled away, gazing up at Tom’s face. Though his body was new, Tom looked weary, almost drained, and Harry longed to smooth away the furrows in Tom’s brow with his fingertips.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked, the question slipping out before he could think better of it.

The side of Tom’s mouth twitched. “The remorse? Hurts like the devil, my darling. Though it’s nothing compared to the remorse I feel when I lose you.”

Then Tom took a few steps back, the diary held in front of him like a shield. Harry sucked in a breath, holding it. He did not know what the absorption of a Horcrux would entail, but he was worried about what it would do to Tom.

Tom’s eyes fell closed, the deep red irises vanishing from sight as he placed his hand atop the cover of the diary. The pages began to glow. Faintly at first, then brighter as the magic expanded. The diary lit up, brilliant and white, and cracks began to appear across its leather wrapper. As the diary shrieked, the cracks continued to spread, breaking the cover apart. Tom gritted his teeth, his face contorting with the effort.

Harry watched, fear thumping in his heart, wishing he could do something. He had never been good at doing nothing when the people he loved were hurting, and centuries later he was still no better at it.

But eventually the light faded. The diary fell to the ground, black smoke rising from its pages in dark, languid curls.

“Tom?”

Tom had an arm wrapped around his ribcage while he panted, his eyes still screwed shut. “I’m fine. It’s less… traumatic… given it was the last one. The important part is that I’m mortal now.”

Harry nodded. “Right.” He tried to approach Tom, but Tom twitched in response, jerking away.

“I’ve figured it out,” said Tom, his eyes now open, his gaze serious. He drew in a sharp breath. “How to break the curse.”

Relief flooded into Harry. He’d spent so many years trying to free them that he almost couldn’t believe it.

Tom pulled out his wand, turning the handle of it over to Harry, who took it. But Tom’s strange, shadowed expression gave Harry pause.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“I think it ought to be obvious by now,” Tom said quietly. “We need to settle the score, darling. You have to kill me.”

Panic seized Harry by the throat, a sick, churning feeling that left him hollow. “No,” Harry burst out, emphatic. “No, Tom, that’s not it, it’s not—”

“You must,” Tom insisted. “It’s the only way that makes sense. It’s why we always come back. Because you never fight me, you always let me—let me—” His eyes closed again, and he shuddered.

Harry moved to grab Tom’s hands. “No,” Harry said. “I won’t.”

Tom’s shoulders stiffened, though he did not pull his hands away. Harry had never seen him look so defeated before.

“There will be another way,” Harry told him, stroking his thumbs across the pale skin. “We’ll figure it out, Tom. I love you.”

Red eyes stared into green. Tom’s smile was bitter. “I love you, but it is not enough. It never has been. My life has no meaning without you.”

“So give it meaning,” Harry said, fervent and hopeful. “And stay with me.”

* * *

They threw themselves into research. Harry wrote a brief missive to his friends, telling them that he was safe and not to worry. He hoped they would not attempt anything reckless.

The few Death Eaters in the manor—Riddle Manor—seemed to accept Harry’s presence at the Dark Lord’s side.

Weeks passed. They grew no closer to finding an answer. Harry had no doubt that if this pattern of finding nothing was to continue, Tom would grow frustrated and once again try to sacrifice himself. Harry would not allow that to happen, refusing to believe that the solution would involve Tom’s death.

He would not let them squander this chance while they had it.

* * *

It was late July when the Order of the Phoenix came knocking at Riddle Manor.

Harry had felt the magic slamming up against the wards. He’d immediately tried to Apparate into the study room, only to find that he could not. So he’d run across the manor towards the entrance hall, where he knew Tom would likely join him.

Barty was out somewhere, but the Lestranges were there, just at the bottom of the staircase. Tom was right behind them, and he came to a halt partway down the stairs, wand drawn.

“Wait for my command,” said Tom. “Let Potter try to talk them down.”

Bellatrix seemed positively feral, her hair and eyes wild. She’d been itching for a fight lately, and she was just as restless as Tom, if not more so. Harry resisted the urge to scowl at her.

Then there was a dual thump as Tom’s silent stunners hit both Lestranges in the back. Tom’s eyes were hard as he met Harry’s worried gaze.

The two of them waited in silence for a second, and then Harry felt the wards fall just as the door blew open.

“Stop,” Harry shouted. “Don’t fire!”

His wand flew out of his hand before he could blink. Harry had not been expecting to be disarmed, but he raised his hand, prepared to perform wandless magic, only to be blown aside by a heavy gust of wind.

It took him a moment to realize that Tom had shoved him aside. As Harry scrambled to his feet, the fight began in earnest. He recognized Dumbledore, Mad-Eye, and Sirius amongst the fighters.

Tom had more experience than the entire Order combined, but as he was aiming to subdue, not kill, it put him at a disadvantage. His wand flew rapidly as he cast spell after spell, blocking attacks wandlessly with his free hand.

Harry stumbled a few steps forward only to be knocked aside again. He wasn’t even sure _who_ it had been this time, since everyone was so intent on keeping him as far away from the battle as possible. He shouted again for them to stop, but his pleas fell upon deaf ears.

A woman with deep brown hair ran over to him. “Harry,” she said. “My name is Tonks. I’m with the Order, with Dumbledore. You have to come with me—”

Harry wandlessly Stunned her before she could finish talking, and then he lowered her gently to the ground. Pushing himself back to his feet, he ran to Tom, intent on helping.

And so Harry joined the ongoing duel, deflecting a spell from Sirius, whose face visibly paled upon seeing Harry by the Dark Lord’s side.

Tom spared a breath to curse colourfully. “Stay back,” Tom commanded. “This is not your fight.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Harry said, and began casting anew.

* * *

The fight moved upstairs as Harry and Tom were forced to retreat. They were rather outnumbered and it was difficult for them to only use non-lethal spells. Tom had started to grow sloppy in his spellcasting, taking risks in his efforts to subdue their opponents more quickly.

Furniture was getting thrown about, and Harry had to dodge a chunk of floorboard that had gone flying at his head.

This wasn’t working. He and Tom had to find a way to get out of here before someone got hurt. If only he had thought to try and dismantle the Anti-Apparition wards sooner—

“ _Bombarda!_ ”

Harry didn’t see who had cast the spell, but it had been headed towards the wall Tom was standing next to, so Harry deflected it towards the ground, which exploded into wooden splinters. Wood chips flew wild, and Harry’s arm went up on instinct to protect his eyes.

There was a loud _crack_ , followed by Harry’s feet slipping against the unsteady floorboards.

“Harry—”

Tom shoved Harry into the wall as the rest of the floor started to give way. Another blast of spellfire hit the ceiling above them, which came crumbling down, chunks of wood and concrete and clay.

A piece of something hit Harry in the head, knocking him to the ground. Harry’s hands flailed, grasping for Tom, but he felt only empty air in front of him, and when his eyes opened, he saw only the gaping hole where he and Tom had been standing.

* * *

Since that fateful night at Godric’s Hollow, Tom had spent much time wondering what it would feel like to fall. The feeling of being weightless, of being temporarily suspended between the world of the living and the world of the dead. He had wondered, though he had never asked, if the impact of hitting the ground had hurt.

In the end, as the ground rushed up to meet him and the ceiling came down upon him, Tom supposed it didn’t matter much. He was glad that, at least in this life, Harry would outlive him...

(The diary contained two words written in pitch-black ink: _‘Save him’_.)

* * *

Harry was perched at the edge, clinging to the jagged floorboards with bloody hands.

His thoughts were spiraling at the sight of Tom, his soulmate, lying still on the floor below, his body covered in wreckage, blood pooling underneath his head.

Tom had shoved him out of the way.

Though the debris around Harry was still settling, though someone was yelling at his name, everything else had lost meaning, and as the floor beneath Harry splintered and fell away, gravity tugging him downwards, all Harry could muster was the overwhelming relief that he would, at least, be following Tom into a new life...

* * *

They woke to a vast, white emptiness. 

Harry stretched his limbs out and found that they were the proper size—adult size. Then he looked over to his left and saw that Tom was lying next to him, his form once again young, human, and handsome. Tom had raised his hand in front of his face, tilting it this way and that, as though he was making sure he was really himself.

Though Harry had the feeling he had been here before, in this place, he knew with certainty that Tom had never, ever been with him.

“You did it,” Harry said, full of awe. “You broke the curse.”

Tom looked up and shuffled over to Harry, placing his hands softly onto Harry’s shoulders, sliding them up to caress Harry’s face. Harry let him, relishing in the feel of Tom’s gentle hands against his skin, real and warm.

“I love you,” said Tom. “I want to make sure you know that.”

“I do,” Harry said, leaning over to press their foreheads together. He could see that Tom’s eyes were now a beautiful dark brown. “I love you, too.”

The two of them held still for a long moment. The atmosphere here was tranquil, free of the pressing anxieties Harry had carried with him for so long. Tom was here. They were both safe. The world, or wherever they were, could wait.

Eventually Tom huffed a quiet breath, shifting backwards. He took Harry’s hands into his own as he stood up.

“Where are we?”

Harry straightened also, allowing Tom to pull him to his feet. “It looks like King’s Cross, actually.” 

Though everything around them was pure white, Harry recognized the architecture, the structure of the posts and the tracks. There was even a shape in the distance that looked like a train. Harry squinted. It was getting closer.

Tom gazed around, solemn. Then he, too, focused on the shiny red train that was moving down the tracks. “What do we do?”

“I think,” said Harry, smiling with fondness at his soulmate, “we need to board a train.”

* * *

_“And either must die at the hand of the other,_

_for neither can live while the other survives.”_

— Sybill Trelawney, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

* * *

**END.**

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to [@waitingondaisies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingondaisies/works) and my sister for helping me through this.
> 
> this was a bitch and a half to write, but i am really proud of the way it turned out. 
> 
> comments are much appreciated, and thank you for reading.
> 
> short outtakes for this story can be found [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com/post/190103819919/deleted-scene) and [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com/post/190106617904/deleted-scene-part-2).
> 
> find me & my writing updates on tumblr [here](https://duplicitywrites.tumblr.com)!
> 
> feel free to join my personal discord server for my writing [here](https://discord.gg/BJRP4A5)!


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